The Christmas Pageant
by Kalila
Summary: When rival town North Park decides to host their pageant on the same night as South Park's, friction and confusion ensues. Can Kyle and Cartman learn to solve their differences in order to work together against North Park's unjust schemes?
1. Chapter 1

Thanks for taking the time to check out my first ever fan fiction – after you finish reading, please leave a review, whether negative or positive. Any feedback is appreciated:)

* * *

It was that time of year again in South Park – that special time, once a year, when colorful lights outline each house, trees happily glower and display their sparkling beauty through the frosted window, and stockings are cautiously perched on top of the smoky fireplace. Yes, every new day was leading up to the climax for the month of December – Christmas!

Kyle Broflovski himself seemed to be caught up in this feverous spirit as he walked into his classroom on a snowy Monday morning, quietly humming a Christmas carol under his breath. He had no idea how this particular song had filtered its way into his mind, but there it was, continually replaying itself over and over again. _Joy to the world, the Lord is come…_

Smiling to himself, he was seconds away from emerging into his classroom when he suddenly stumbled over something on the floor; with a dull thud, he landed heavily on the tiled floor. Gasping in pain and rubbing his wrist, he looked around for the source of his fall and his face flushed with anger as he realized that it had been no other than Eric Cartman's foot – Cartman, the evil, racist asshole of a friend whom Kyle had been clashing with non-stop ever since the two had met.

Jumping heatedly to his feet, Kyle lashed out at his only known enemy. "What the hell was that for, fatass!"

Cartman was laughing, his three chins wobbling under the hearty chuckles. "You should've seen your face there, Jew – it looked like you were about to shit your pants or something. Perhaps you should stop walking around in your little Jew bubble and pay attention to what's going on."

At this, Kyle's fists clenched and his teeth gnashed together; but he somehow mustered enough self-control to resist punching his fat face and, instead, entered the classroom. Much to Kyle's annoyance, however, Cartman trailed Kyle inside like a pesky fly hovering about sugar.

"Aw, Kyle, come on – it was funny!" Cartman protested, taking his usual seat next to Kyle. "Look, it's not like you even got hurt or anything. Lighten up, will you? You Jews just love to blow things out of proportion, huh?" He paused as Kyle slammed his books onto his desk. "Oh, great, now you're ignoring me? All Jews ignore people or hold long grudges when they're mad at someone. I see it in the movies all the time. Yeah, you Jews are queer folk, no doubt about that."

Kyle, still focusing all his strength on ignoring Cartman, was then relieved of this tedious struggle by the arrival of his best friend, Stan Marsh, who – by the looks of it – had been caught up in the early December blizzard, as his face was flushed with the cold and his hat was covered with a layer of snowflakes.

"Hey, dude, what's up?" Stan cheerfully greeted Kyle, slinging his backpack on his desk. Melted snow dripped from it, creating a small puddle beneath it. "We've got at least another couple inches of snow this morning – wanna go ice-skating at Stark's Pond after school today?"

"Sure, dude, sounds like fun," Kyle agreed, the anger and resentment draining from his face. He was lucky to have Stan as a friend – whenever Cartman upset him (which was usually the case), he could always count on Stan to cheer up him again.

Within the next five minutes, the classroom generally began to fill up; the students took their seats, animatedly talking about Christmas, snow, and other things, until Mr. Garrison – their teacher – entered the room, and the room gradually fell silent.

"Well, children, I have some news for all of you," Mr. Garrison said, taking his stance at the front of the room as usual.

"You're retiring? Oh, no, wait – you're ill with a terminal disease and you have to quit teaching forever," Cartman responded saucily.

"Shut up, you little cream puff!" Garrison snapped. "We could only hope for a little bastard like _you_ to come down with cancer!" He then cleared his throat and continued, "No, I just finished talking with Principal Victoria, and she proposed some idea that all you little snots can participate in this year."

Stan caught Kyle's eye and made a sarcastic face; Kyle stifled a laugh. Whatever idea Mr. Garrison and their principal had cooked up certainly didn't interest him; in fact, past experience had taught him that whenever Garrison dangled the opportunity to participate in a scheme of his in front of Kyle's nose, it was best not to accept the offer.

"Because families around here are lazy sons of bitches and apparently don't have enough money to buy Christmas gifts for their bastard children, she wanted us to raise money for them." Mr. Garrison rolled his eyes, as if helping the poor was below him. "And because none of you kids seem to like participating in 'volunteer work', she figured something that centered around Christmas would get your attention. Therefore –" he paused on his word, a ghost of a smile on his lips – "the fourth grade will be putting on a Christmas pageant!"

Silence greeted his speech, only to be broken by Wendy Testaburger seconds later. "Isn't the church already having one?" she asked dubiously. "If we do end up having a pageant and charging money for it, who's going to want to come to ours if they can go to the church's for free? And where are _we_ going to get the money to _put together_ a Christmas pageant in only three weeks? Where's the organization? How will this work?"

"Oh-ho, figures _Wendy_ has to raise some serious questions over something so stupid!" Cartman interjected tauntingly. "Although she _is_ right about one thing… nobody's going to want to come to a pageant _we_ put together. They'd be better going to the church's, which is saying something."

"Oh, will you shut up, you fat cupcake?" Mr. Garrison yelled, glaring with pure venom at him. This, however, had no effect on Cartman, as he continued to sit there with a mocking smirk on his face. "Victoria's already talked to Father Maxi and explained how our pageant would raise money for the poor, so he's canceling the church's pageant for ours. Any props, costumes, anything else the church would usually use is now readily available for _our_ use. And, to answer Wendy's question, somebody in this class can be the official overseer of this pageant. That means that he or she gets to direct the pageant and be in total control of the whole thing. There'll be other positions too, like assistant director and a bunch of other things."

Bebe now raised her hand. "Will everyone get to participate in this pageant?"

"Of course everyone can. This is going to be a huge pageant – we're going to need lots of people helping out. Oh, _now_ what, Eric?" For Cartman had raised his hand.

"Well, I was just wondering whether or not the overseer will paid for taking control of the pageant," Cartman explained calmly.

Beating Mr. Garrison to a response, Kyle spoke up angrily. "Of course not, fatass! This is all volunteer work for the needy families!"

"Oh, great, now a _Jew_'s preaching to me about sharing with the poor! A Jew, who's so greedy and protective of his riches that it's absolutely repulsive!" responded Cartman in disgust.

"Oh, for the love of God, will you kids shut up?" Garrison asked in exasperation. "You're making this whole deal harder than it should be, and we have to wrap this whole thing up soon – rehearsals start tomorrow afternoon. Now, who wants to be the overseer of this pageant?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle saw Cartman smile with a hungry and greedy look upon his face, his arm poised to be raised in the air. He knew Cartman well enough to know what was going on inside his mind – stealing money from the pageant's profits, negatively controlling the pageant, suppressing any intelligent ideas others from other positions would contribute… in those three seconds, Kyle fully understood the precariousness of this situation and how important it was for Cartman _not_ to become overseer of this pageant.

Beating Cartman's hand by a fraction of a second, Kyle triumphantly pierced the air with his hand as he shot it up, a triumphant look forming in his eyes.

"Very well, then, Kyle – you can be overseer," Mr. Garrison said, writing his name on a piece of paper. "Now, who's going to be his assistant?"

Cartman turned to Kyle, an outraged look in his face. His mouth opening and closing stupidly, he seemed to be taking in what had just occurred. Finally, as Mr. Garrison was in the middle of asking, yet again, who wanted to be the assistant, Cartman roared out angrily, "A _Jew_? A _Jew_ directing a _Christmas_ pageant? He'll fuck it up! I should be overseer; I have so many ideas for it!"

"I'm sure you do, you little bastard!" Mr. Garrison responded scathingly. "I wouldn't have elected you anyway – Kyle's better in academics and he could contribute better to this pageant than you. Besides, if I turn him away, that could earn me another call from his mother…" Garrison then did a half-shudder, perhaps remembering past encounters with Sheila Broflovski. "But if it means that much to you, Cartman, then I'll just make you assistant overseer."

"What? No!" Kyle interjected in dismay. "Put me with Stan – Kenny – Butters – anybody else but fatass!"

"Or how about you just throw Kyle off the face of the earth and make _me_ overseer, so this pageant can be run like it should!" Cartman pressed angrily.

Suddenly the whole class burst into argument, each student yelling different things. Some students, like Butters, cowered in their seats, anxious looks upon their faces.

"OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL YOU KIDS SHUT THE FUCK UP?" Garrison roared. The class, at once, fell silent. "I'm sick of having to deal with you little bastards day in and day out! Now, listen up – Principal Victoria and Father Maxi want us to do this, so we're doing it – and because you kids are just fucking up everything, I'm going to now decide who does what. No exceptions and no complaining!" He took a deep breath, then continued in a calmer voice, "Kyle is going to be overseer and Cartman will be his assistant. The rest of you can either participate in the pageant itself, scenery, or stage crew. I'll post a sign-up sheet later for you to sign. Any questions!" He didn't even pause to allow questions to flow through, but instead continued with, "Okay, now put everything away, and let's now learn about why Jennifer Aniston is a whore in Friends."

As the class opened their notebooks and began to mentally prepare themselves for the lessons, Kyle and Cartman exchanged looks of disgust. It was evident neither wanted to work with the other; but, as Kyle reasoned to himself, at least he was the overseer of the pageant, and – for the first time – Cartman was in a position beneath his. That was enough information to pacify him for the time being.


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, here we go – Chapter 2.

Note – there's been a small change. I've already corrected it in the first chapter, but in case you just read the original, I'm not making Butters the assistant-assistant-overseer. I just couldn't work it in with the plot – but he'll still have a part, be rest assured. :)

* * *

"Well, I did it," Stan announced to Kyle as he sat down beside him. "I signed up for Joseph – and, surprisingly enough, nobody else had already signed up for it. There's a pretty good chance I'll make it." 

It was lunchtime and Kyle had been sitting by himself at their usual cafeteria table, writing down more "pageant plans" he had in mind. Fortunately for Kyle's sanity, Cartman was nowhere to be found – Kyle surmised that he might be pigging out somewhere in the lunch line.

"Hey, sweet!" Kyle said, putting his pencil down and closing his notebook. "Whatever part you want, Stan, you'll be guaranteed to get it – it helps to have your best friend as the official overseer of the pageant. I've already decided that auditions aren't necessary – basically, it'll be a first come, first serve basis. We don't have time for auditions. I've calculated it out how many days we have left till the pageant is scheduled to go on stage – December 20 – which gives us only 19 days to put this together. I figure rehearsal can go Monday-Thursday for three hours each day." Kyle stopped, pausing to take a breath, and was about to continue with his flow of ideas when he caught an amused look forming in Stan's eyes. "What?" he questioned.

"You must be really excited about this," Stan said, smiling. "You've already got about fifteen pages of notes there…"

Kyle smiled back, feeling a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I really am. It's surprising how much fun it is to plan this thing. And not only that, Stan, but as I'm writing down these ideas, I can't help but feel pride for them – I have a feeling that they're really going to work."

"Cool. I can't wait to hear about them," Stan said, opening up his container of vanilla pudding. "Did you talk to Cartman about this before planning it all out?"

"No," Kyle said in surprise. "I don't have to talk it over with fatass. I'm the overseer, he's the assistant overseer – whatever I want doesn't have to correspond with what he wants. Besides, who cares what that lump of fat thinks? He's only the assistant overseer because he likes pissing me off. Oh, and he's trying to steal the proceeds the pageant brings in, too. What a douche."

"Well, good luck working with him," Stan said. "You'll definitely need it…"

"Yeah. Hey, who else signed up for parts?" Kyle asked, trying not to sound too eager. Although he would never admit this to Stan, he was beginning to feel a little worried that perhaps nobody would sign up for it – true, Mr. Garrison was practically forcing them to participate, but what if everyone just signed up for scenery instead? Kyle didn't want to think how Cartman would gloat in his face about _that_. ('See, this is what happens when you get a _Jew_ be in charge of a Christmas pageant – nobody wants to sign up for it!') It was almost amazing how determined Kyle was to make this pageant a success – he would prove to Cartman that _is_ capable of completing such tasks!

So therefore, it was to his immense relief to see Stan nod. "Yeah – Tweek, Pip, and Butters want to be the three wisemen; Craig, Clyde, and Token want to be shepherds; Bebe wants to be Mary's sister – I think her name is Elizabeth – and... um… that's all I know so far."

"Nobody signed up for Mary?" Kyle asked in surprise. "That's odd…"

Stan squirmed in his seat, his pudding forgotten. "Well, um, no… somebody did sign up for it…" Looking anywhere but at Kyle, he quickly muttered to the tabletop, "Wendysignedupforitalready." His cheeks turned pink.

"What?" Kyle asked.

"I said Wendy signed up for it!" Stan said in a louder voice, his face reddening – if possible – to a deeper color. "But that wasn't why I signed up for Joseph," he hurriedly added, though Kyle had never asked for the reason. "I mean, it's obvious I'm over her. The reason I did it was because, um… I…"

Kyle waited for Stan to finish his sentence. However, Stan had stopped speaking, his eyes still cast downward and his mouth drooping. His face was still a bright red.

"You know, Stan," Kyle said gently. "If you still like her… that's okay."

Stan muttered something to the tabletop yet again, but before Kyle could ask for a translation, a piggish voice suddenly cut through the air, interrupting the two.

"Oh, hey, Kyle!" Cartman said in a falsely cheerful voice, plopping his fat body on the bench across from him. "Well, do I have some exciting news for you! Guess where _I _just was!" Without waiting for the flustered boy to answer, he continued happily, "Well, I went to see Father Maxi during the lunch break. A great idea had suddenly come to me during math class, but I couldn't tell you about it, because we weren't allowed to talk! I was afraid of getting you in trouble, you know what I mean?"

"Like hell you were, Cartman!" Kyle snarled, glaring with indescribable hate at the fatass sitting across from him. "What the hell did you tell Father Maxi?"

"Oh, nothing, except I was just talking to him about how Mr. Garrison was playing favorites when he elected the overseer for the pageant and how incredibly upset I was about being discriminated against because I'm fat. So Father Maxi then decided to appoint _me_ overseer, and he said that _you_ can have the privilege of being my assistant!" Cartman broke off then, smiling a huge, fake grin. "He said he'll talk it over with Mr. Garrison this afternoon, but no matter what Garrison said, I'll probably be the overseer – or so Father Maxi tells me. Boy, it sure helps to be a devoted Christian in his church, doesn't it?"

Kyle gaped at him in outraged disbelief. Before he could rant all the feelings surging through his mind at that instant, Stan spoke up on Kyle's behalf. "Mr. Garrison wasn't discriminating against you 'cause you're fat, you asshole! He did it because you're a stupid dumbfuck who can't even tie his own shoelace! Kyle'd be a much better overseer of this pageant and you know it!"

"Oh, but he wouldn't," Cartman continued in that same lazy tone of his. "Which is why Father Maxi agrees with me. You aren't too angry, are you, Kyle? No hard feelings, right?"

Kyle was still staring at Cartman, his cheeks reddening with anger, millions of thoughts and emotions coursing through his mind. He should've expected this from the boy who was always making his life hell – he should've expected this kind of behavior from a boy who always had to have his own way. Sure, he knew from past experience that Cartman might be difficult to get along with, especially after he had realized he'd be working _under_ Kyle. But now… Kyle suddenly realized that _he_ would now be working under _Cartman_. The thought was unbearable – and it made it even worse knowing Cartman had committed this deviously behind his back.

So now he wouldn't be able to contribute anything worthwhile to the pageant. It would be ruined – completely ruined. Kyle's hopes had been built up and now they were shattered – cold, heavy disappointment surged through his body, accompanied by hot anger.

Cartman was still sitting there, staring at Kyle with a triumphant and smug look in his beady eyes. Suddenly, that was all it took to push Kyle over the edge. Standing up so quickly he startled both Stan and Cartman, he yelled, "WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT, CARTMAN? You always have to pull these little games, don't you! I'm so sick of this…" To his complete embarrassment, he felt hot tears prick the back of his eyelids, and his throat became constricted. Feeling the rush of tears pour down his cheeks, he suddenly turned and bolted from the cafeteria, determined not to look back.


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, here's chapter 3. I apologize for the slight delay; I've decided to make the chapters longer from now on. Again, any reviews or constructive criticism are welcomed and appreciated. :)

* * *

"Kyle?" Stan asked tentatively, pushing the door open to the men's room. He had followed his agitated best friend out of the cafeteria, anxious to see if he was all right, but now he hesitated. What if Kyle was still crying? Tears, after all, made him nervous – and Kyle was hardly one to cry.

Much to his relief, however, he found Kyle standing glumly by the sink, and his eyes - though red and puffy – were now dry. They were cast downwards to the tiled floor below, and his shoulders were slumped in dejection.

"Hey, dude, are you okay?" Stan said. "Look – Cartman's a fag, we all know that – "

"I give up," Kyle interrupted in a dull voice, still staring at the floor. "Cartman will always win one over me, won't he? It's always been the same, ever since we were in preschool together. We've never gotten along – we're always fighting with each other. The Jew jokes will never stop from him." He took a deep breath, calming himself. "It just isn't going to work anymore. I'm talking to Mr. Garrison after lunch. Maybe he can appoint someone else assistant-overseer."

"Don't quit just because of Cartman, Kyle!" Stan implored. "Don't you see? Quitting is exactly what Cartman wants you to do! That way, everything will just go his way and nobody reasonable would be able to stop him!" Stan stopped there, waiting for a rebuttal from Kyle, but none came. "Look… don't quit. You'll be disappointed with yourself if you do – especially if Cartman ends up producing a pageant that sucks ass."

Kyle sighed but remained silent. Finally, though, after apparently doing some serious thinking, he raised his eyes from the ground and looked directly at Stan, his eyes rekindling some of their former determination. "You're right, Stan. Quitting is for pussies. Besides, I'm not going to let fatass win _this_ time. True, I may now be only the assistant, but I'm not letting this pageant go downhill just because of _him_."

Stan smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. Now, come on, let's get out of here – the bell's going to ring any minute."

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed fairly quickly with nondescript events. Cartman – to Kyle's immense relief – had said nothing to him about his embarrassing cafeteria episode. Later, Mr. Garrison surprised the class by announcing that Cartman and Kyle would be switching places "due to Father Maxi's wishes". Though a couple kids glanced quizzical glances at Kyle (who steadily avoided their gazes), nobody said anything or called him on it. Then, as the bell was seconds away from ringing, Mr. Garrison reminded them of their rehearsal tomorrow afternoon from 3 to 6 P.M.

"Ugh, thank God that's over with," Kyle breathed a small sigh of relief in the frosty air as the trio – Stan, Kyle, and Kenny – walked to Stark's Pond for ice-staking. "All those stares – people were probably wondering why the fuck Father Maxi wanted Cartman to be overseer. Hell, _I'm_ even wondering why…"

Stan chuckled. "Probably gave him oral or something…"

Kenny joined in. "Yeah, probably... or had butt sex…"

Stan was seconds away from replying – probably with a remark even more disgusting than Kenny's – when a voice cut through the frosty air. "Stan! Stan, wait up!"

All three turned to see Wendy and Bebe rushing toward them, their boots sinking through the snow drift and their coats flapping openly in the wind. Kyle felt Stan give a small jolt of surprise beside him, and a quick glance to the left confirmed that Stan was pleased – yet embarrassed – to have Wendy call his name out like that.

"Wendy, what are you doing here?" He managed to croak out as the two girls fell into step beside them. "I thought you would be home… doing, um, homework or something…"

"Don't be silly," Wendy said, her cheeks pink in the cold air. "Bebe and I wanted to go ice-skating today, and we saw you heading there… so I thought, why not? Let's go with Stan and his friends." She cleared her throat. "Actually, I'm a bit surprised to see _you_ here… I thought you weren't a big fan of skating… but Stark's Pond… that brings back a lot of memories, doesn't it?" she added in a wistful voice as the frozen pond came into view.

Stan cleared his throat, suddenly feeling overheated and extremely uncomfortable. He glanced at Kyle, silently begging him to change the subject. Picking up on the nonverbal message immediately, Kyle quickly scrounged around for something to say and finally blurted out the first thing that hopped into his mind: "So, um… how about that pageant? You guys excited about it?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Bebe said as they crouched near the pond's edge, untying their shoelaces and slipping on their ice-skates. "It's just a shame Wendy beat me to signing up for Mary. I would've loved to play opposite Joseph… especially when he's being played by Stan." She threw a quick wink at the startled boy over her shoulder.

"W-what?" Wendy stammered; her skates tied, she stood up quickly. "Stan's going to be Joseph?" She turned to Stan with an odd look in her eyes; Kyle couldn't tell where she was going with this. "You… you're serious? We're both going to be Jesus's parents in this pageant? Together? I don't know what to say…" Her face expressionless, nobody in the group could tell whether she was happy or disappointed about the arrangement, and a heavy silence fell.

"Oh, look!" Stan said feebly, suddenly cutting through the awkward stillness. "There's Token and Clyde over there… see you…" Looking both miserable and hurt, he quickly jumped into the ice and furiously skated away.

Wendy stared after him, a closed look forming in her eyes. Frowning and blinking back tears, she turned away and muttered to Bebe, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"What? No!" Bebe looked wistfully at the glistening lake, where kids were happily skating around. "We just _got_ here, Wendy…" But Wendy, determined to leave as quickly as possible, grabbed the blonde's arm and yanked her away.

As Bebe's departing protests became fainter and fainter, Kyle and Kenny exchanged looks of identical puzzlement. "What the hell just happened?" Kyle questioned. Kenny just shook his head in confusion. "Come on, let's go talk to him." Kenny nodded and jumped onto the ice, skating over to where Token, Clyde, and Stan were standing. Kyle was about to do the same when he heard a taunting voice sound behind him.

"Aww, did Stan get his feelings hurt by Wendy again?" Cartman jeered. "He should learn that he's better off without that bitch…"

Kyle turned around, glaring at Cartman. "When the hell did _you_ get here, fatass?"

"Just a couple minutes ago. It was really nice of you to invite me, by the way," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But then again, I suppose you have an excuse for your forgetfulness – you've been crying your eyes out all day, ever since you found out you're not the overseer anymore. If I were you, I'd be distraught as well…"

Kyle bristled, stung by the crying remark. So Cartman _did_ choose to hurl that embarrassing moment back in his face, after all. "Oh, will you give it up already?" he retorted, clutching his mitten fists at his side. "I don't give a shit that you're the overseer now. Quite obviously, I'm over it. Now, if you'll excuse me, Cartman, I have more important things to do than stand here talking to you."

"Actually, no, you don't," Cartman corrected him in an annoyingly superior voice. "Rehearsals start tomorrow, and we've got a shitload of business to discuss about this pageant before that time. Well… actually, I have some things to _tell_ you about the pageant and you have to more or less agree with them. But hey, same thing, right?" He chuckled, glancing down at his fistful of notes. "Now, first on the agenda, we have to discuss scenery – I was thinking about hanging that two-hundred year old star the church always has over the manger scene…"

Kyle turned away from Cartman, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He didn't feel like talking about this with Cartman – not here, not now… especially with Cartman repeatedly rubbing it in his face that _he_ was now in charge of the whole thing…

"You know what, Cartman?" Kyle suddenly interrupted; Cartman glanced up from his notes to throw Kyle an exasperated look. "Since I really don't have a say in what goes on with the pageant anymore – according to you, anyway – I'm just going to leave you to masturbate with your notes. Have fun." He half-turned, getting ready to jump onto the ice.

"Kyle, you stupid Jew, we have to accomplish all three pages of these notes before tomorrow's rehearsal," Cartman insisted. "Now, goddammit, we're going to talk it over right here, okay!"

Kyle smirked at him. At any other point throughout the day, if Cartman had told him all this then, he would've probably exploded in his face. But now, he felt strangely aloof and saucy. "No, that's not okay, Cartman," he said. "_I_ came here to ice-skate, and that's what I plan on doing right now. We can talk about these pageant matters tomorrow at rehearsal with everyone else. Talk to you later, tubby." And with that, he skated away, leaving an infuriated Cartman standing on the snowy banks.

He didn't even realize Cartman had hopped onto the ice after him in an angry pursuit until he heard Cartman yell, "Figures a stupid _Jew_ would shirk away his responsibilities! Figures a stupid _Jew_ would think he's the most important person here!"

Kyle spun around on the ice to face Cartman, an outraged look on his face. "Oh, right, _I'm_ the one thinking I'm the most important person? Look at yourself in the mirror, Cartman! You're always the one itching for more money, and everything always has to go _your_ fucking way. Well, I'm sick of working with such an egoistic asshole!" And he turned around and began skating away at top-speed.

He probably should've been looking where he was going, but the burning anger against Cartman growing inside him had blinded him; mere mili-seconds after turning around and skating away, he abruptly collided with another person on the ice. With a yell of surprise, the poor skater fell to the ice, landing heavily on his arm.

"Oh my God, dude, are you okay?" Kyle, concerned, looked down at the person he had collided with, who was slowly sitting up, his lips pressed together as if he was suppressing cries of indescribable pain.

"Oh, nice going, Jew!" Cartman jeered, skating up to Kyle and tauntingly pulling on his scarf; Kyle angrily slapped his hand away. "You think you own Stark's Pond now or something? Going around knocking innocent skaters off their feet just because they're better than you are, O Precious Jew? Oh-ho-ho…"

The boy surprised both of them then by jumping angrily to his feet, glaring at both of them with indescribable animosity. "What the hell is your _problem_?" he spat out, rubbing his arm. "You think it's funny to run into me?"

"N-no," Kyle stammered, taking an indistinctive step backwards. "Look, I'm really sorry I ran into you – it was a complete accident! Are you okay?"

Cartman now addressed the boy with an attitude of indifference. "Oh, don't mind my friend Kyle here," he said, tossing his arm around Kyle's shoulder; the latter shook it off in disgust. "If he sees someone doing something better than him, it's in his Jewish blood to immediately take them out. Trust me, I've been there – with this pageant we're throwing…"

"Shut the fuck up, fatty," the boy snapped, startling Cartman into silence. He turned to face Kyle. "I see we're going to have a real problem about this, aren't we?" He angrily jabbed the front of Kyle's jacket. "Mr. Hot Shot here thinks it's funny to almost break my arm, doesn't he?" Before Kyle could even open his mouth to protest against this, he launched another question at him. "You're from South Park, aren't you?"

"…Yes," Kyle answered timidly, secretly wondering how fast a person could run away with ice-skates on.

"I knew it," the boy jeered. "All you South Parkers have something against us North Parkers. It's always the same; just because your football team is better than ours doesn't mean you always have to pull shit with us!" He took a step forward and shoved Kyle backwards. "Well, guess what, Mr. Hot Shot – I'm sick of being pushed around from stupid South Parkers like yourself!"

Kyle, nearly toppling over himself, quickly regained his balance and angrily retorted back, "I wasn't pushing you around, asshole! It was merely an accident! You're making something out of nothing! Now why don't you just leave me alone so we can continue on with our lives, okay?"

The two of them stood there, glaring with each other. Finally, the boy relented; shrugging his shoulders, he was about to let the fray fall through and skate away when Cartman suddenly taunted after him, "Well, you know, your football team _does_ suck compared to ours…in fact, anything in your crappy old town sucks compared to South Park. If I were you, I'd hide away in my house all day because I'd be too ashamed to come out and show my ugly North Park face."

"Cartman!" Kyle yelled out in alarm as the boy suddenly lunged back, knocking Cartman off his feet; as he fell onto the ice, the boy leaned over him and hissed, "You'll be sorry. Your whole fucking town will be sorry. Just you wait. North Park is going to fight back against South Park's self-acclaimed 'respect'. Just you wait." And with that, he skated away and disappeared into the crowd of surrounding skaters.

Kyle gaped after him. "Ohhh," Cartman moaned from the ground. "Pain. Paaaain. I think I'm dying. I think this is it…"

Kyle frowned. Grabbing Cartman's hand and hauling him back up on his feet, he said, "Shut up, Cartman. You're fine. But why the hell did you yell that after him? We know that North Parkers are assholes, but still…"

Cartman gritted his teeth both in pain and in frustration. "He asked for it. Nobody pushes South Park around, and I let him know that." He moved to adjust his scarf and winced in pain. "Ouch… I think I cut my wrist on the ice somehow…" And sure enough, there was a small trickle of blood protruding from a cut. "Listen, I'm just gonna grab my notes over there and head home. Too much drama for me."

"Wait," Kyle said. He quickly scanned the crowd for a glimpse of either Stan or Kenny and saw neither. "I'll come with you; I have no idea where Stan and Kenny went. I need to get home and start my homework anyway."

The two skated over to the edge of the pond where they had just been five minutes earlier. Kyle sat down in the snow and gently slipped off his ice-skates. He was in the middle of lacing his shoes back up when he heard Cartman yell out in indignation. "What? What's the matter?" he asked.

"My notes!" Cartman said. "My notes aren't here! I threw them down here when I went to chase after you, and now they're gone!"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Look around. I'm sure they're around _somewhere_…"

"They're not, Jew!" Cartman insisted, groaning in exasperation. "Goddammit! I really had some good ideas on those, too. Who the hell would've taken them!" Suddenly, he stopped ranting and stood there for a couple seconds; something was slowly dawning on him. Finally, he turned to Kyle with a furious expression on his face and yelled, "YOU! I knew it! You took them, _didn't_ you? Man, Kyle, I knew you were pissed about not being overseer anymore, but that doesn't mean you have to steal my goddamn notes! Now give them back to me, you gay homosexual!"

Kyle stared at him with a calm expression on his face. Jesus Christ, was he sick of Cartman right now. "I didn't take your notes. I don't know where they've gone, but I would suggest looking up your ass – most things you lose somehow end up in there. Now I'm going home. See you tomorrow." And with that, he headed home, his ice-skates slung over his shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

Here's Chapter 4 - I was in the middle of doing my Precalc homework when I suddenly had the urge to continue writing. But I do apologize for the shortness of this chapter; the next one will be longer, with any luck. :)

* * *

Kyle was in the middle of eating dinner with his family when the telephone rang.

"Why don't you get that, bubelah," Sheila Broflovski suggested, spooning some more peas onto Ike's plate. "I'm expecting a call from your aunt."

Kyle hopped down from his chair and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Stan's anxious voice greeted him from the other end. "Look, dude, are you busy right now?"

"I'm just eating dinner. Does that count?" Kyle said in a semi-joking manner.

"Okay, listen. It's about Wendy. Did… did she say anything about me after I left to be with Tweek and Butters? Did…did she look… upset… or what?"

"Um…" Kyle thought back to the afternoon, which wasn't an easy task, considering how much had happened in such a small amount of time. "Oh yeah… she did look pretty upset. She and Bebe left pretty much after you did."

"They did?" Stan asked in a low voice. "Where did they go?"

"I don't know," Kyle responded honestly. "All I know is Wendy looked upset and it looked like she was about to cry, then she grabbed Bebe's arm and they left."

"Oh. I see," Stan said, sounding slightly disappointed. "So, um… she didn't say anything else?"

"No, she didn't," Kyle said. He paused. "Look, Stan… why don't you just call her?"

"_Call _her!" Stan exclaimed, losing his anxious tone. "What are you, crazy? I can't _call_ her! It's obvious she hates me and doesn't want me playing Joseph in the pageant! I mean, you saw her reaction when she heard the news from Bebe – she hates me!"

"She doesn't hate you, Stan," Kyle responded matter-of-factly. "I think she was just a little surprised is all. I mean, she'll probably be over it by tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure she will," Stan replied sarcastically. Obviously, he felt the urge to vent out his anger and frustration on Kyle tonight. "Like _you_ care what Wendy thinks of me. It makes no difference to you whether or not she wants to be around me. Do you _realize_ how much she hurt my feelings after I saw the expression on her face?"

"Stan, please calm down," Kyle implored. "Do you want me to talk to her tomorrow or something? Would that help?"

He heard Stan sigh. "I guess," he said glumly. "I don't know… when did life ever become so confusing?"

Kyle was about to respond when he heard a sudden beeping on his line; the call-waiting. "Hey, Stan, I have to go now. I'll call you later, okay?" Click – he switched to the other line. "Hello?"

"Kyle?" It was Cartman.

"Oh. Hey. What's up?" Kyle said, inwardly wondering why the hell Cartman would be phoning him.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" Cartman asked.

"No," Kyle responded, caught completely off-guard.

"Can you come over?"

"… Why?" Kyle asked, perplexed.

"Because, asshole, we have to talk about the pageant," Cartman said in an irritated voice. "When I tell everyone all this stuff tomorrow anyway, I don't want you being all surprised and speaking out against it. So I figured we could talk over everything tonight."

Kyle didn't know how to respond. "Wow, Cartman… you actually care about what I think?"

"Of course not. I just don't want you throwing a fit about it tomorrow at rehearsal," Cartman responded quickly.

"Ah… okay. Did you find your notes?"

"No. I haven't got a fucking clue where they are." Cartman cleared his throat. "Kyle… did you really take them?"

"No, I did not," Kyle answered honestly. "I didn't touch them, and I don't know where they are. Maybe they're buried in the snow somewhere."

"Well, they certainly weren't up my ass," Cartman added in a joking manner.

Kyle laughed. "Yeah, well… what time you want me coming over?"

"I dunno. Around 7, maybe?"

"Okay. I'll ask my mom, but I'm sure it'll be no problem. See you then." Kyle hung up the phone, then blankly stared at the wall in front of him. He'd just held a normal conversation… _with Cartman_. The thought was almost inconceivable. Who would've ever thought _that_ could happen?

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, he returned to the dining room and sat down at the table. "Mom, is it okay if I go over to Cartman's house after dinner?" he asked.

"And why would you need to do that, bubbie?" Sheila questioned.

Kyle took a deep breath; it had suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't told his parents yet about the pageant. "Well, I don't know if you've heard about this yet or not… but Mr. Garrison, Father Maxi, and Principal Victoria want us fourth-graders to put on a pageant this year to raise money for the needy families. They just told us today, and um, Cartman and I are heading it."

Sheila, who had been – for the third time – trying to get Ike to eat his peas, dropped her fork in surprise. "A pageant? You mean a _Christmas_ pageant?"

"Um, yeah, kind of," Kyle responded timidly. Damn it! If his mom was totally against the idea, she could easily telephone Mr. Garrison and give him a mouthful about it. Mr. Garrison would then become so pissed off (as he usually did) and just decide to kick Kyle out of the whole pageant. "But, listen, Mom – it's an educational experience. Plus, it's raising money for the needy families! And they need extra cash around the holidays to buy gifts for their children, don't they?"

"I think it's a good idea, Sheila," Gerald interjected. "Besides, there's no need to isolate Kyle just because of his religion."

"Well…will there be any Jewish themes incorporated in this pageant?" Sheila pressed. It was obvious she didn't want the taint of a Christmas pageant to touch her Jewish son. "Perhaps I should talk to Mr. Garrison about this. I don't want any other Jewish kids feeling suppressed or overwhelmed by being forced to participate in a pageant woven solely by Christian influence…"

"Mom, no!" Kyle protested. "Look… nobody else _cares_, okay? You'd be forcing me to live in humiliation – what would _Cartman_ say – " Suddenly he cut himself off, in complete disbelief of what had just come pouring out of his mouth. He didn't give a fuck what Cartman thought about him; he really didn't. Really.

"I just don't feel good about this," Sheila said briskly. Standing up quickly, she began gathering the dirty dishes and walked into the kitchen. "It just doesn't seem like a good idea…"

"Don't worry, son," Gerald reassured Kyle. "I'll take you over to your friend's house tonight, and I'll try to talk your mother into this pageant." He stood up as well, and, grabbing the newspaper, proceeded into the living room to dive into the world of sports.

Kyle faced Ike. "Our family's pretty fucked up, huh, Ike?"

"Fuuuuuuucked!" Ike repeated in a sing-song manner, and, with a childish yet defiant look on his face, dumped his peas onto the floor.

* * *

Later that evening, Gerald dropped Kyle off in front of Cartman's house. Climbing out of the vehicle, Kyle said, "Thanks, Dad!" before slamming the door and continuing up the front walk.

It was going to be another frosty but beautiful night, Kyle decided, pausing on the front porch to look up at the starry sky above him. It had begun to snow again, as light snowflakes were falling to the snowy ground around his feet. He had the sudden urge to make a snow angel in the snow around him; or better yet, go sled-riding. Or perhaps have another kickass snow fight with Stan and the guys.

"What the hell are you doing, Jew?" Cartman's voice cut through Kyle's daydream; the heaven-like atmosphere Kyle had been surrounded by suddenly shattered into a million pieces around him.

"Wha – oh, nothing," Kyle said, suddenly embarrassed. "Just… you know… it's snowing outside again…"

"Yeah? So?" Cartman, on the other side of the glass door, stared at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, never mind, Cartman," Kyle suddenly snapped. Figures Cartman couldn't comprehend how beautiful it was outside; he had the emotional capacity of dry toast. "Are you going to let me in or not? It's a little cold outside, in case you haven't noticed…"

Rolling his eyes, Cartman retreated away from the door and disappeared somewhere, leaving Kyle to let himself into the house.

"Oh boy, Kyle!" an excited voice twanged with a Southern accent greeted him. Turning to his left, Kyle was surprised to see Butters sitting happily on the couch, watching what looked like an episode of _Full House._ "I didn't know you were comin' over too! Wow-ee, this is just like a party!"

"Shut the hell up, Butters," Cartman said automatically, reappearing in the living room with a notebook. Turning to Kyle, he explained, "His parents went out to dinner and asked my mom if she would baby-sit him for a couple hours. Trust me, I had no authoritah over this."

"Well, all your little friends should know that they're welcome over here any time!" came Liane Cartman's voice from the kitchen. "Oh, how I love seeing my Eric having nice friends to play with again." She stuck her head into the living room, her hands covered with mitts; Kyle suspected she might be making cookies. "And he's told me all about the pageant and how he's so excited about it; it's wonderful that he's participating in something again." She beamed at her son, who was glaring at her as if he wanted nothing more for immediate death.

"Thank you, Mom, that's enough," Cartman said between gritted teeth, flipping off his mother as she returned to her baking. "Goddammit, I hate that whore."

"Now-now Eric, that isn't very nice," Butters scolded slightly, his eyes still glued to the television. "God doesn't like for us to call each other names – oh, no, D.J., don't take that beer from her! Oh, I can't watch!" And he promptly covered his eyes with his hands as D.J. hungrily eyed the booze on the television screen.

"Ah… right." Kyle turned to Cartman. "You wanted to talk about the pageant?" He gestured towards the notebook Cartman was clutching. "Are those your new notes?"

"Indeed they are." Sitting down next to Kyle, he flipped open the notebook. "You can read this over for yourself – this is basically what I'm going to talk about tomorrow with everyone else. Just… you know… let me know what you think." With his ears reddening a bit, he turned to the television screen and pretended to be interested in it.

One glance at the neatly-printed words on the page confirmed that Cartman was truly interested in this pageant; idea after idea flowed from page to page. Kyle was speechless; utterly and completely speechless. Was this _really_ all Cartman's work? It was just so… involved… and – Kyle hated to admit it – damn good!

_-For the manger scene, have the traditional Star of Christmas the Church uses every year in the background._

_-Recruit a choir, perhaps anyone from kindergarten to third grade, so everyone can participate; wear white gowns with ?candles? - sing songs when people come into the auditorium, during the pageant, and after._

_-Use some lines from "A Christmas Carol" incorporated in the Pageant script, keeps audience awake._

_-Costumes – Church might have some; Goodwill connections; Mrs. Swain in Middle Park can donate good costumes and accessories_

_-Scenery – painters can come the same time as the actors and just paint while we rehearse, in the gym perhaps… paint can be donated by the church._

"Jesus, Cartman," Kyle said, looking up from the notes in awe. "Wow… these are pretty good…I mean, they're _really_ good…"

"You think so?" Cartman asked, sounding a tad pleased. He took the notebook back from Kyle. "Well… I had more ideas in my original notes, but God knows where they are. What you see there is basically all that I could remember."

"Notes?" Butters asked, turning away from the television. "For the pageant? Why, can-can I see them? Oh boy, I'm so excited for this pageant! Am I really goin' to be a Wiseman? That's what I signed up for; by golly, I hope I get that part!" He bounced up and down in anticipation.

Cartman groaned. "Yes, Butters, you are a Wiseman; anyone who signed up for a part got it, okay?" he said in an agitated voice. "Here… look for yourself." And he threw the notebook onto Butters' lap, who opened it immediately and immersed himself in it.

A minute of silence passed; Kyle could hear random banging in the kitchen. He wondered briefly if Mrs. Cartman _was_ really baking cookies and if he would be able to eat some later.

"Hey, do you think that North Park kid really meant what he said?" Kyle suddenly blurted out, breaking the silence.

"You mean about making South Park sorry? Nah," Cartman said. "I mean, rivalry with that town has been going on forever. You'd think they'd be over it by now. I certainly am."

"Well, I hope you're right. North Parkers are nothing but trouble; and they can certainly cause it if they want to," Kyle responded in a serious tone. He then switched subjects. "Hey… is your wrist okay?"

"My wrist?" Cartman glanced down at his bandaged arm. "Yeah, it's fine. Just a small cut. I've had worse, Jew – you don't have to look so concerned."

"I'm _not_ concerned, fatass," Kyle snapped back forthwith. "I was just wondering, that's all." Embarrassed, he turned away from Cartman and stared elsewhere.

"Oh, boy!" Butters suddenly interrupted, clapping his hands. He'd obviously just finished reading Cartman's notes. "Why, Eric, I don't think I've ever seen something planned out so well before. This pageant is going to be hand-smackin' good, I can feel it already."

"Okay, Butters, don't have an orgasm over it," Cartman said, throwing his notebook onto the end table beside him. "Aren't your parents supposed to be home from the restaurant now? Jesus Christ, they've been eating for over an hour! How long does it take to eat one fucking meal?"

"Why, Eric, I don't know," Butters responded innocently. "But I'm glad they're not here; I like spendin' time with my friends! I hardly get to spend time with you and Kyle and Stan…"

_Stan_. At the sound of that name, Kyle sat up suddenly – he'd forgotten to call Stan back! Dammit, Stan was going to be really pissed about that, especially now that he was so distraught over the Wendy situation. Standing up quickly, Kyle turned to Cartman. "Hey, Cartman, I gotta go now. Thanks for having me over and everything. Your ideas were really good."

Stepping over Butters' legs, Kyle made his way into the foyer. He was in the middle of slipping his mittens back on when he heard Cartman cough behind him. "Look, uh, Kyle… I'm sorry if I … hurt your feelings today at lunch. Sorry about… you know… taking your position as overseer and stuff." He stared at the ground, his ears reddening again.

Kyle looked at him in surprise. He'd never seen this side of Cartman before – he almost seemed… _human_. "It's okay, Cartman. I'm over it. Besides, my ideas suck compared to yours. It's cool." He opened the door and was about to step out when he heard Cartman call again, "Kyle?"

"Yeah?" he turned around.

"Well, I just wanted to say that… HAHAHAHA! Figures a stupid _Jew_ can't tell when someone's being serious or not! Some things never change, do they, Kyle?" And with another wicked grin at the jolted redhead in front of him, he slammed the door in his face.

Kyle stared at the door, feeling extremely taken-aback. Then, walking down to the street, he angrily shook himself for being so stupid. For a second there, he had actually believed that Cartman was actually a nice person; a person whom he could identify with and actually be _friends_ with. But now, he thought irately, that's never going to happen.

"Yeah, some things never _do _change," Kyle murmured bitterly to himself, forcefully kicking a chunk of ice out of his way. "Goddamn you, fatass…"

And he made his way home, trying to force the picture of Cartman apologizing kindly to him out of his mind. He didn't need Cartman's friendliness or acceptance. He was just a lump of fat with no emotions or feelings.

Yet he still couldn't get Cartman's apology out of his ears.


End file.
